


Wolmeric Week Prompts for March 2021

by Ezekiel Grayson (MordeshLibertine)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Established Relationship, Firmament Spoilers, Heavensward Spoilers, M/M, Shadowbringers Spoilers, Spoilers through Patch 5.4, Stormblood Spoilers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29793321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MordeshLibertine/pseuds/Ezekiel%20Grayson
Summary: A series of short fics as responses to the prompts for Twitter's Wolmeric Week, March 2021. Starring Aymeric De Borel and my Duskwight Elezen Male Warrior of Light, Pyotyr Ilych.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. Prompt #1 - Formal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Wolmeric Week Prompt #1, Formal - Aymeric De Borel escorts the Warrior of Light to a night at the Opera.

Everyone, Noble and Commoner, Hyur and Elezen, seemed to immediately focus on the two men as they exited the cloakroom arm-in-arm, and proceeded through the lobby to the main theatre of the Grand Ishgardian Opera House itself. Pyotyr Ilych, Warrior of Light, had slightly more eyes on him, but only a few, as the man on his right arm was none other than Aymeric De Borel, a man nearly of his stature and reputation in Eorzea, and certainly his equal in Ishgard. Still, Pyotyr liked to fancy it was their fashion that turned heads as much as their reputation.

Pyotyr wore a long pair of black leather thigh boots inlaid with gold buttons and embroidery that reached nearly the length of his not-inconsiderably long legs, for he was tall even for a Duskwight Elezen, and above those, fishnet stockings reached the rest of the way. His tunic was made of finest black silk, the high ruffled collar covering his long neck and nearly tickling his artfully messy hair, and the black silk cravat that spilled over his chest was affixed with a sapphire inlaid in filigreed silver, a nod to the house colors of his companion. The coat he wore over it all was of purest white, the cuffs and lapels turned to reveal the purple silk lining, the same color as his hair and his finely trimmed goatee. The coat itself was also affixed with a silver chain across the breast, and the tail of the coat fell below his knees, accompanied by an elaborate black bustle. Completing the look was a set of black belt cinches at the waist, and a purple silk flower attached to that, upon which hung a silver pocketwatch. on his hands, of course, were a pair of delicate white gloves, inlaid with gold filigreed thread on the backs and palms. 

Aymeric was, of course, dressed no less fine. His high heels were dyed white leather, but reached up nearly as high as Pyotyr's, though he wore solid black hose beneath them. his tunic was colored the bright blue of his house's colors, quilted and dotted with bright blue gems like stars along the front and back. His undershirt of pure white silk peeked out from beneath, with a tall ruffled collar and white lace sleeves. Over tunic and undershirt he wore a black coat of fine karakul wool, grey dyed lapels emblazoned with the insignia of house Borel, and on his chest hung the golden cross of the office of the Lord Commander. It was an old, classic Ishgardian look, heaviness of the cloak to account for the newly bitter Coerthan winters aside, but for the age of it, Aymeric looked no less dashing, and Pyotyr found himself hard-pressed to tear his gaze away. Aymeric, by the cant of his eyes, was in much the same situation with Pyotyr.

"You look radiant tonight, Captain Ilych," Aymeric murmured. 

"And you are as handsome as the day I first saw you in that outfit, Ser Aymeric," Pyotyr said, practically purring in response as he remembered that beautiful dinner so long ago, "and so, so attentive to your escort."

Aymeric chuckled, and blushed slightly, "Formal event or no, none of the lords and ladies vying for my attention tonight will be half as arresting as you, my dear."

Pyotyr smiled back, and tore his eyes away from Aymeric long enough to open and check the pocketwatch at his waist, "Well, for now, those lords and ladies and our own conversations may have to wait. We should find our seats if we are to watch the Opera."

Aymeric smiled and bowed slightly, "Of course. I've been looking forward to it."

The two climbed the stairs to the second floor balconies, and quickly found their box, but as they made to sink into their seats, instead, one of attendants in the rafters swung a stage spotlight to focus on them both, and for a moment they stood dazed and blinking in the light until they realized and straightened up again, to look every inch Ishgard's most famous couple.

"Honored Guests, Friends all, we ask you to take your seats," The Impresario crowed from the stage, "for soon we shall begin to unwind our tale, the glorious and tragic story of the Lady Shiva and the Dragon Lord Hraesvelgr, and the love which saved the land of Dravania and the nation of Ishgard once and twice again!"

"But before we begin, may I say that are blessed by the Fury herself tonight," He continued, "For here to partake of our humble performance are two very special guests. In the grand box above, may I introduce and welcome Ser Aymeric De Borel, The Azure Dragoon, Speaker of the House of Lords, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights, Head of House Borel, Once Archbishop of the Holy See, Hoplon and Defender of our most blessed and glorious Lady Halone, and his companion, Storm Captain Pyotyr Ilych De Fortemps, Ward of House Fortemps, Warrior of Light, Friend of Human and Dragon alike, Scion of the Seventh Dawn, Slayer of Primals, Downfall of the Black Wolf, Sword and Enforcer of the Most High Goddess, Saviors of Ishgard!"

The two men stepped further out onto the balcony arm in arm, raising their free hands to wave to the audience below, a crowd of nobles and commoners mixed at the insistence of Ser Aymeric, to mark a new era of cooperation between the classes, as the pit orchestra played a royal fanfare. Finally, as the cheering dyed down, they took their seats in earnest, right next to each other, Aymeric's hand over Pyotyr's own on the armrests as the orchestra began to play the overture.

Pyotyr chuckled, softly, "So that's how they chose to introduce me? I must say, I sometimes forget how many titles I actually have."

"Please do forgive me and my fellow Ishgardians our overly formal manners, my dear," Aymeric said, "I fear we do enjoy them perhaps more than we should."

"Oh, there is nothing to forgive, my dear," Pyotyr answered back, shifting his hand to interlock fingers with Aymeric's and squeeze it, "That formality is one thing I love about you and your country. It can be... comforting, to see such elaborate ritual and courtly consideration - when it's not trying to kill you. It's good to know where you stand. And it all sounds and looks as beautiful as you do, you know."

Aymeric smiled at that, but made no answer, only gazed into Pyotyr's eyes. 

"Really," Pyotyr continued with an Impish grin, "I may have to collect as many titles and names as I can, just to see how many I can get the poor Impresario to say next time you take me to the Opera."

That got Aymeric to snap out of his reverie and laugh again, "Well, if that's what you wish, my dear, I'm sure I have at least one extra I can give you."

Pyotyr blinked, and for a moment look almost nonplussed, before he began to grin like the cat that swallowed the canary.

"Why, Ser Aymeric," He said, "Are you proposing that I take the name De Borel, and your hand in marriage with it?"

"Wha-" Aymeric's eyes widened, "I assure you my dear, I did not mean to be so forward, I only meant I could give you a knightly title, or- but, wait, I do want to marry you, one day, I only meant I had meant to discuss it with you, find a time when we could discuss our feelings, and our future, in a more intimate setting-"

Pyotyr squeezed his hand again.

"I was teasing you, my dear Ser Aymeric," he said, looking at him with fond eyes, "but I echo your sentiments, and I would dearly, most sincerely, love to add De Borel to my list of names. Perhaps tonight, after the Opera we can speak of what such a future might look like - and when it might happen."

Aymeric's face perked up into that especially excited look he seemed to get when he knew he'd get more time with Pyotyr, or when he saw Pyotyr again after a period of separation, whether it be for a night while he was dealing with issues in the countryside, or months when he was saving another nation across the sea. That look, bright, cheerful, relieved, hopeful, full of possibility and love. It was that look, Pyotyr decided, that he enjoyed more than any formal pageantry. And if allowed, he would spend the rest of his life chasing that look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pyotyr's Outfit is meant to be based on one of his actual In-game glamours that uses the Plague Doctor's Coat, while Aymeric's outfit is meant to be his dinner date outfit, which I imagine to be rather standard Ishgardian formalwear. The fanfare played by the Orchestra to introduce Aymeric and Pyotyr I imagine sounding much like the Overture to George Frideric Handel's Music for the Royal Fireworks.


	2. Prompt #2 - The Firmament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pyotyr returns home after a long day of the Firmament to find Aymeric in somewhat of a Funk.
> 
> Written for Chapter #2 of Wolmeric Week. Contains spoilers for the end quests of the Firmament.

The sun had near set in the sky by the time Pyotyr stepped through the threshold of the mansion de Borel. While it had been some hours since the concert in the Firmament and the unexpected but very welcome visit from Aymeric, he'd found himself kept back a few more hours as he spoke with people, helped with fireworks and flowers alike, played with the Orphan children, took a profferred tour of the new hot springs, and any number of tiny little tasks where the much beloved Warrior of Light and Savior of Ishgard might be requested.

Still, for now the day was finally over, and he'd returned home at last, handing his coat off to the butler with a grateful smile, asking after his day. When he asked after Aymeric, the poor manservant looked a bit exasperated. 

"Ah, Master Ilych, that IS why I'm glad you're home. He's shut himself in the drawing room and he hasn't come out!" The Butler replied.

Pyotyr blinked, "Oh dear. Thank you for telling me, I'll go see him at once!"

Gently, quietly, Pyotyr opened the doors to the drawing room and crept in, closing them once again behind him, before turning to take in the scene. Indeed, there he was, sitting on the large drawing room couch, before a slowly dwindling fireplace. On the sideboard sat a glass of his favorite red wine, still mostly full, as was the bottle beside it, and a plate of petit four cakes, yet only a single nibble out of one of them. One of his hands sat listlessly in his lap, the other dangling over the side of the couch, as he sat, staring, his gaze a thousand miles beyond the fire in front of him.

He really was down bad. With a small frown, Pyotyr rounded the couch and sat down beside his beloved, reaching over to take his hand.

"Oh," Aymeric seemed to awake with a start, and he squeezed back against Pyotyr's hand as he turned his head, "I'm sorry, my dear. I didn't hear you come in. Welcome home!"

"Tis good to be home, my beloved Aymeric," Pyotyr answere dwith a gentle smile, "but... are you alright?"

"I am fine, my love," Aymeric replied, but his wan smile did little to encourage Pyotyr, "Simply tired. It was a long day."

Pyotyr frowned at that, "Darling. We have been lovers long enough for me to know tis more than that. You only bring out the cakes and wine at the end of a weekday if you are in a certain mood, and if you still can't touch them, I know that mood is all the more dire."

Aymeric shook his head, a dark and pained look across his face, "Truly, my dear, it is naught you need to worry over. I know you've had a long day yourself, perhaps we should simply retire..."

Pyotyr felt tears spring to his eyes unbidden at the pain so evident in his paramour's face, and laid himself against Aymeric's chest, causing Aymeric to almost reflexively bring his arms around the other man.

"Aymeric. My own," Pyotyr murmured into his chest, "You are my husband. And I know that you will always have secrets you need to keep, and I respect that you are your own man. Still... I am here. I want to share your burden, as I vowed to you. As much as I am able."

"I am sorry, my Pyotyr, I swear, my sorrows are not directed at you. They never could be," Aymeric replied, pausing to sigh slightly, bringing a hand up to card through his beloved's messy purple hair, "...But you are right. I... am sad - perhaps angry at myself - that I missed your music in the Firmament earlier today."

"Oh!" Pyotyr sat up a little straighter to look up at Aymeric, bringing a hand up to cup to his cheek, "Oh! Darling, you needn't feel as if you let me down, if that's your worry. Francel somewhat sprang the event on me, and we barely had time to plan as it was... Had we but a few more days, I would have made sure to hold it when you could attend, but I knew how busy you've been, between the peace talks with the Vanu and the Imperial warfront, to say nothing of everything in the Houses of Parliament..."

Aymeric looked back down at Pyotyr, that wan smile on his face again, more genuine this time, but still marked by sadness, "I know, my darling. As I said, none of this is directed at you. But... We are both very busy men. I never get to spend as much time with you as I wish. Either I am busy with affairs of state or the Temple Knights, or you are continents, or even worlds away, keeping us all safe. The times you can come back to Ishgard are far fewer than I would wish, and when I cannot even spend those with you... Halone preserve me, the burden sometimes feels too heavy."

Pyotyr said no words at first, only wrapped his arms around his beloved, slipping off the couch to kneel between his legs, burying his face in his chest, feeling his warmth, sharing his own. For a moment, they sat like that.

"Aymeric," He murmured at last, "Please don't be so hard on yourself, my love. I treasure every moment we have together. And As I swore to you, when the Empire and the last of the Ascians are dealt with, I shall ask the Scions for leave to move here with you and stay, at least for a time. But until then, I do treasure you, and I understand. We were not meant to be a normal couple, at least for now, and yet, what we have. It is more precious to me than gold. Please, know that whatever else happens, I love you."

Aymeric had buried his head in the crook of Pyotyr's neck as they knelt, entwined, and murmured back, "And I love you, my dear Pyotyr."

After another moment, Pyotyr gently, slowly, extracted himself from Aymeric's embrace, "But here. If you missed my concert, I shall simply have to give you another. Here, tonight."

Aymeric straightened up at that, looking at Pyotyr with sparkling eyes as he walked across the drawing room to where he had lain his fiddle on a side table when he'd last come home earlier that week. Lovingly,he took it out of its case, and drew bow across strings, testing the tune, adjusting strings and applying rosin, before turning back to the couch with a bow.

"My Lord Aymeric, may this humble travelling musician grace you with a tune to soothe troubled mind and weary soul?"

"Please, O Handsome Traveler," Aymeric murmured back, the smile on his face now much less tired, "I await your convenience."

And thus, Pyotyr set string to bow, and for a space of time, the Drawing was full of the sound of his voice and his instrument, as he sung, a few sea shanties and folk song of Lominsa, then switching to songs of Ishgard Aymeric and Haurchefaunt had taught him (sometimes with grumpy corrections from Estinien when they missed a note or misremembered a lyric, though he often joined in on the full song as well when Pyotyr felt he'd learned enough to try a verse). Then, finally, Pyotyr sung one last song, a Limsan folk tune, his favorite in all of Hydaelyn:

_I wish I was in Limsa Lominsa  
Only for nights in Vylbrand  
I would swim over the deepest ocean  
The deepest ocean, my love to find_

_But the sea is wide and I cannot swim over  
And neither have I the wings to fly  
If I could find me a handsome boatman  
To ferry me over my love and I_

_My childhood days bring sweet reflections  
The happy times so long ago  
My boyhood friends and kind relations  
Have all passed on now like melting snow_

_I'll spend my days an endless rover  
Soft is the grass and my bed is free  
Oh but to be back, in Limsa Lominsa  
On that lonely road, down to the sea_

_Now in Moraby, it is reported  
They've mighty galleons as black as ink  
With gold and silver I would transport her  
But I'll sing no more now til I get a drink_

_I'm drunk today, but then I'm seldom sober  
A handsome rover from town to town  
Ah but I am sick now, my days are over,  
Come all ye young lads and lay me down_

_I wish I was in Limsa Lominsa,  
Only for nights in Vylbrand..._

He lowered his fiddle and laid it back on the side table, and turned to bow. Aymeric clapped vigorously as Pyotyr walked back toward the couch to sit beside him, stopping only to throw his arms around the other man when he was in reach, and favor him with a long, deep kiss.

"Oh, Bravo, my love," Aymeric said, when their lips separated again, "oh, that was exactly what I needed."

"I am happy I could provide, my darling," Pyotyr said with a soft smile of his own, as he wrapped his arms around Aymeric in return, "For my heart sings when I am with you."

"As does mine," Aymeric responded, "But now, I truly am weary. Shall we retire together, for the night?"

"Of course, my dear," Pyotyr answered, "And I promise, when you wake, I shall be here. The Scions can wait a few more days. And one day soon, they shall have to wait even longer."

"I must admit, as selfish of me as it is, I look forward to that day very much," Aymeric answered, "But until then, I shall treasure every day we have in between."

And so the two rose from the couch, and retired to their bedroom, the music of their souls singing in harmony all the while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Pyotyr sings is indeed meant to be an "in universe" version of the Irish folk song Carrickfergus.


	3. Prompt #3 - Casual/Modern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every morning, at a certain campus coffee shop, Professor Aymeric De Borel and Professor Pyotyr Ilych meet over coffee and tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern College Everyone Lives AU, pre-relationship, also mentions Francel/Haurchefaunt and Ysayle/Hilda, because Harchefaunt and Ysayle deserved to live and get some loving, damn it. Written for Prompt #3 of Wolmeric Week March 2021,

The Cafe known as the Hoplon, situated in the Firmament food court of the student union building of the Scholasticate, Ishgard's largest public university, certainly had the same potential for chaotic days as any eatery on a college campus might. But all the same, every day, some things could be counted on like clockwork.

For example, every morning, early in the morning, Professor of Arcanima Pyotyr Ilych entered the dining area and walked up to the counter with a smile for whoever was behind register and the counter. They already knew that his order would be a large mocha and 2 fresh croissants, and they'd have it ready. Haurchefaunt always spent a bit of extra time making sure to put aside the biggest, freshest croissants from the latest batch Estinien had prepared in the kitchen that morning.

Then, order in hand, Pyotyr would retire to his favorite table with a view of the stunning Coerthan Mountain range through the windows behind it, and proceed to open his laptop and work, be that on grading papers, organizing research, or reading academic journals, as he munched on his croissants and sipped his mocha from time to time. 

A short while later, History Professor Aymeric De Borel would enter. His usual order was Ishgardian Milk Tea and a Pain au Chocolat, picked with just as much care again by Haurchefaunt. With his order in hand, he too would retire to the other side of that same table, spread out his own work, and begin.

The two men, despite ostensibly being from different departments, were still good friends, always exchanging greetings as Aymeric sat down. On days when their loads were light, or just when the mood took them, they would speak more extensively with each other, debating points of magical history, discussing their shared interests of cooking, ballroom dancing, and music, especially Ishgardian Opera, or sharing details of their latest lesson plans or research projects. Pyotyr always insisted that Aymeric's insight into the effect of late Allagan Summoning on the development of Ishgardian Arcanimancy often gave him breakthroughs he needed to really pound a lesson home, while Aymeric was known to say that it was a pleasure to clarify points of order on his lectures on the Mage Wars with a man who had such a passion for old Nymean scholarship.

Regardless, after some hours, Pyotyr would eventually pack his belongings away, finish what remained of his coffee and croissants, use a spare napkin to wipe his side of the table down, leave a few large bills as a tip (this despite the fact that the Hoplon, by law, paid all its employees a fair living wage) and bid a fond farewell to Aymeric and the staff before heading out the door. Aymeric would watch him go with a rather sad sigh, and the staff would look at each other knowingly.

On this day, however, Haurchefaunt was out in the dining area wiping down some tables, and something compelled him to speak.

"You know, Professor De Borel, I'm pretty sure Professor Ilych would say yes if you asked him out."

Aymeric looked over at the Barista, "I..."

Estinien, who'd finished his baking and was now manning the register, cast a baleful eye on his coworker, "Haurchefaunt, are you harassing the customers again?"

Haurchefaunt grinned cheekily at Estinien, "Of course not, Estinien! Professor De Borel is a valued friend, and I am simply offering him some much-needed advice. As a friend."

Estinien's aura grew a shade blacker, but Aymeric hastily threw his hands up in protest, "No, No, I appreciate your concern Estinien, but I know Haurchefaunt only means well! You need not fear!"

"Then you agree with my advice?" Haurchefaunt said, having given up all pretense of cleaning to lean against Aymeric's table.

"I... It's... It's not that simple! Pyotyr is a valued colleague! Workplace romances are a delicate undertaking, and I can't just dive into one simply because I have a crush on him!"

"Oh, You shouldn't worry so much about that, Professor," Haurchefaunt said brightly, "You're in different departments, so it's not like there would be chain of command issues. Besides, workplace romances can be very beautiful! Ysayle and Hilda are one of the cutest couples I've ever seen."

"I am perfectly professional when Hilda and I are scheduled together!" Ysayle called over in protest from behind the coffee machine. 

"And I've told you before, it won't harm anything to show your wife a little affection on the clock, Lady Iceheart!" Haurchefaunt called back. 

"We do just fine, Haurchefaunt," Ysayle said, poking her furiously blushing head from around the machine at that, "Certainly as well as you and Francel."

"You're welcome to the broom closet when we're not using it," Haurchefaunt crowed back, "But regardless, right now it's about the Professors. And Professor De Borel very much should ask Professor Ilych on date, don't you agree, Lady Iceheart?"

"They would make quite a cute couple," she said after a moment of chewing her lip in thought.

"We have a wonderful friendship," Aymeric said, seeming to have rallied himself for a second protest, "It would be a shame for me to jeopardize that for some steamy love affair!"

"Oh, friends make the BEST lovers," Haurchefaunt said, "I know that from experience. Francel and I were childhood friends long before we got together, and it's only deepened our friendship!"

"Yeah, you were pretty deep in your friendship that one time when I needed to get the mop from the broom closet..." Estinien grumbled from the register.

"I was on a contractually guaranteed break, Estinien," Haurchefaunt said, still beaming brightly, "but just for you, we'll find another spot when I'm on break."

Estinien only shot him another dark glare.

Aymeric sighed.

"Oh, don't worry professor," Haurchefaunt said, "I know it sounds bad, but Francel and I only used the broom closet for that ONCE. These two scoundrels just love to remind me of it every chance they can. I think they're trying to embarrass me. Imagine that!"

"Oh no, I don't mean that, I just..." Aymeric closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed before continuing, "Haurchefaunt, I appreciate your faith in me, but..."

"Oh, but nothing, Professor," Haurchefaunt replied, "You are obviously smitten with him, and I'm pretty sure he's at least a little smitten with you. Life is too short, and as much as we love watching you two dance around each other every morning, I think it would be even more marvelous if you joined those handsome features together in harmony and love!"

Aymeric sighed again, but he smiled softly as Haurchefaunt gave his impassioned speech, ending with arms flung wide against the backdrop of the Coerthan Mountains outside the window. 

"Speaking of harmony and love," Ysayle called from behind the counter, "Could you hurry up and finish your cleaning, Haurchefaunt? I'll need your help on the machines for the next after-class rush."

"Yes, yes," Haurchefaunt called back aimiably, "I'll be there in a minute, Lady Iceheart!"

"And I will think on your words, Haurchefaunt," Aymeric said as he stood and began to gather his things, "Thank you for your council as a _dear_ and _valued_ friend, and I will see you in the morning."

"Please come back anytime, Professor!" Haurchefaunt said with a friendly wave.

***

Some weeks later, the same scenario as always played out. Ysayle wasn't around because she'd taken a few days off to go skiing with Hilda, but Haurchefaunt and Estinien held down the shop as admirably as ever with the help of Firmalbert, who generally only worked weekends but was usually happy to cover the odd weekday vacation as well. There was, however, one additional change to the morning routine that caused an even greater stir: This time, as Pyotyr rose to leave, he leaned down as he passed Aymeric's seat and placed a small kiss on his cheek.

"I'll see you after class, my dear," He murmured in the other man's ear.

"I look forward to it, Professor Ilych," Aymeric murmured back, and turned his face to give Pyotyr a peck on the lips as a parting gift, then watched, cheeks red and a fond smile plastered on his face, as Pyotyr left the coffee shop with a friendly wave to the staff.

When the front door closed behind Pyotyr, Haurchefaunt, who had begun to smile even more gleefully than usual upon witnessing the kiss, leaned back into the kitchen and yelled, "ESTINIEN! GET OUT HERE!"

"What?" Estinien's grumpy grumble could be heard from the back as he trudged out, apron and hands white with flour.

"They're together. I told you. Now pay up!" Haurchefaunt said, holding out his hand.

"Ugh. Let me go wash my hands at least, fool. I'm not getting flour all over my godsdamned wallet!" 

Aymeric had been looking over at the scene with a mild quizzical curiousity at first, but at Haurchefaunt's last words, his cheeks went scarlet again and his eyes widened.

"By the Fury, you had a BETTING POOL?"


	4. Prompt #4 - Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Warrior of Light Pyotyr Ilych withdraws to the Royal Menagerie after the battle of Ala Mhigo, and Aymeric de Borel finds him there.
> 
> Written for Prompt #4 of Wolmeric Week March 2021 - Flowers

The afterglow of victory in the Battle of Ala Mhigo ended for Pyotyr almost before it began. Between the fatigue of the protracted fighting in the streets, against soldiers, against mechanical monstrosities, then fighting that strange and grotesque thing Zenos had become, to dealing with his ravings, his offer of... friendship?

Pyotyr was glad that his friends had their nation back, but all he wanted was to rest and try to forget that maddening imp who had caused so much trouble, and nearly killed one of his dearest friends - that had killed others no less deserving of life. And thus, he snuck away at the first opportunity to the corner of the royal menagerie to collect his thoughts. It was oddly quiet, now. Some soldiers had already carried Zenos' body away, the blood from his wounds absorbed into the soil where he fell, and everyone else had rushed below to join the celebrating throngs.

Or almost everyone. 

Pyotyr sat down among the flowers, looking down to see those little red blossoms, weaved through his fingertips as he ran them across the ground, the color of blood. So much blood he'd seen, these past few months. It was his life, had been his life for some time now, and yet...

"Ah. There you are, my friend."

A voice from behind him, a familiar one, and even in his current mood, he would gladly admit, not unwelcome. He tilted his head back to see standing above him Aymeric de Borel, Lord Speaker of Ishgard, Commander of the Temple Knights, and still very much the object of one of the most hopeless crushes Pyotyr had ever experienced in his long life. The man had shed his coat and pauldrons, and was wearing only a pair of boots and simple breeches, and a brilliant blue silk shirt with a collar undone to reveal a hint of delicate collarbones and a sturdy yet smooth chest.

"Ser Aymeric," He said, smiling up at him, "What brings you out here? You aren't celebrating with the others?"

"Well," Aymeric said quietly, as he moved, lithe and catlike, to lower himself down and sit beside Pyotyr, "I was, but I had rather hoped to celebrate with... well, with you, if I may be so bold."

Pyotyr found himself blushing at Aymeric's words, stammering as they were, they did feel bold indeed. Or perhaps it was the closeness of their bodies, as he sat close enough that their shoulders were seperated by but a slight whisper of space, and if either moved another ilm, their hands would almost have to be touching, intertwining, by default.

"How are you feeling?" Aymeric broke the silence first, looking at Pyotyr with large concerned eyes as the other man stared at the sky, half in though, half to avoid the blush that was sure to spread across his face if he looked back at Aymeric.

"I am... sore," Pyotyr said with a chuckle, "Even the Echo can't protect you completely when a massive beast of pure aether controlled by the soul of a monster of a human being brings his full weight up on you."

"Oh!" Aymeric said, concern heavy in his voice, already lifting himself to his feet, "Are you still hurt? Forgive me, I should have known, I can fetch the chirurgeons immediately!" 

"No! It's fine, Aymeric, please, stay," Pyotyr turned to him and, almost by instinct, put a handle on his shoulder, gently urging him back down, "I am a healer in my own right, after all. I've mended the worst of my wounds, and I'm sure I'll be fine with a day or two of rest, at least in body."

"In body alone, my friend?" Aymeric said as he indeed sat back down completely again.

Pyotyr grinned ruefully. 

"I am sorry, Ser Aymeric," He said after a moment, "It is nothing you should worry yourself over, I'm sure. I was only thinking. Today is... a triumphant day indeed. I would not begrudge anyone their celebration. We've dealt the empire a sore blow, and many have received hope that their homeland may flourish again in freedom. Yet, I can't help but think of the carnage, the strife. We lost so many good people, many of them I considered friends, and we nearly lost many more. Alisaie and Y'shtola will recover, but I came so close to losing them. And what if you - or any of the other leaders - fell in battle? Gods, to think of it. And... I swear, that Prince Zenos. He's dead. I know he is. I saw him end his life myself. But I still feel his eyes upon me. Those dead, cold eyes..."

Aymeric put a supportive hand on Pyotyr's back as he trailed off.

"Oh, Pyotyr," Aymeric said, his voice dropping low, "I am sorry. You carry so many burdens for us all, and I so dearly wish we... I... could share the load more fairly. You are as human as any of us. You always have been. Forgive me, but I will always worry for you."

Pyotyr looked back at Aymeric as the man stared at him, eyes wide, a small, supportive, smile genuine, but tinged with that same worry. He felt his heart expand, his chest oddly light. Here was a man who had so many burdens of his own. The leadership of an entire nation, an attempt to end a centuries-long war of emnity, a man who had nearly been killed by his own people more than once, a man who had to order the death of his own father, a man who had hardship and leadership thrust upon him time and time again, yet rose to the challenge. And yet, here he was, all of that forgotten, filled with nothing but worry for a common adventurer. 

"Oh Aymeric," Pyotyr said, trying to put his thoughts into words, "My burdens are always made lighter when I think of you - of those such as you. May... May I tell you something?"

"Of course, my dear friend, anything at all," Aymeric answered, his hand still on Pyotyr's back, his eyes still fixed on his face.

"At times when my thoughts have been darkest, when I have felt the weight of it all, I have often thought back to our dinner. To that one question you asked of me, that I didn't have time to answer."

"What do you want?" Aymeric said with a nod, recalling well the words he had spoken before the doors had burst open and reality intruded again on that tiny, cozy world they had built for a few precious hours.

"I... The thing I wished to say then. That I still feel now. I want... I wanted to rest. To stay in Ishgard for a while longer. Because of you. With you."

"Pyotyr?"

"I was at such a low point in my life when I first came to Ishgard. As far as I knew, most of my friends were either dead, or believed me to be a traitor to Eorzea. But there were those in Ishgard who welcomed us anyway. Haurchefaunt and his family. The people of the Forgotten Knight. And you. You were always there. To support us and cheer us on. So many times I wanted to stop, it was your word, your encouragement, that kept me going. So many people ask so much of me, of us, the scions. But even for all you asked, you first always offered refuge, and shelter, and friendship, and love."

Aymeric shifted his hand from Pyotyr's back to his cheek as he replied.

"And how could I not, my dearest Pyotyr? When I first saw you, I thought you the very image of a hero. Handsome, dashing, determined, brave, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders as if it was light as featherdown, everything I heard in stories growing up. Everything I was trained to be as a Temple knight. How could I not be drawn to that? And yet, the more I got to know you, the more realized, that wasn't really all you were, it wasn't even the best parts of you. The best parts of you were your kindness, your compassion, your good humor. And more, your sense of justice, not as vengeance, but as a vision for a better world, your concern for the poor and downtrodden and your belief that all are equal in the eyes of the Twelve. Those were what we really needed to see. What I truly needed."

"You thought me dashing?" Pyotyr said, leaning his cheek into Aymeric's hand and laughing giddily.

"You ARE rather dashing, you know," Aymeric responded with a chuckle of his own.

"So..." Pyotyr said, and bought his own hand to Aymeric's cheek in response, "You know my answer now. I want to be with you. I want to know you even more deeply. I think... in the deepest, calmest hours of the night, when I have no company but my own, I dream... that perhaps, when this is all over, I will build a future of my own, one of peace and quiet, and always, always, I hope that you will be in it."

"I have similar thoughts, my dear friend," Aymeric answered back, "And... I think I should like to consider that more, with you, in the days ahead."

For a moment, neither said anything, but their faces grew inexorably closer, until they found their arms wrapped about each other, their lips pressed together. An involuntary moan escaped from Pyotyr as Aymeric deepened the kiss, slowly, gently, one hand now trailing gently down Pyotyr's side, cupping his bottom.

Still, a moment later, they pulled apart, just a bit, and rested their foreheads against each other. 

"I will not return to Ishgard for a few days," Aymeric said, "I will need to take stock of our armies here and secure care or transportation for our wounded, and discuss the status of the Eorzea Alliance and Ala Mhigo's recovery with my fellow leaders. Yet, still, I should have some hours free in the evening, and all of them will be yours, should you desire."

"I would like that very much, I think," Pyotyr said in answer, "But right now, if no-one else has missed us from the party, perhaps we could take some time now?"

"Oh, we will have time, my dear," Aymeric chuckled, low and deep, an undercurrent of want in his voice, "I asked Lucia not disturb us for a few hours before I came to find you."

To that, Pyotyr only laughed merrily and pulled Aymeric down into the flowers, and as he did, it seemed they bloomed anew again all the brighter. And along with them, many other things bloomed as well, that night.

***

A month later, after Aymeric was long back in Ishgard and once again ensconced in his office, a letter was delivered to his desk, the contents of which caused his cheeks to redden and the smile on his face to widen with every sentence:

_My Dearest Aymeric,_

_It's been some days now since I saw you last, standing among the flowers of the Royal Menagerie of Ala Mhigo, basking in the glory of our victory over Garlemald one last time before you alighted onto the airship that would carry you back to Ishgard. In that moment, as the sun lit the perfect lines of your face, as the wind lightly tousled that glorious mane of yours, I swear, of all the flowers in that field, you blossomed the brightest._

_Had my fellow Scions not accosted me, I swear I would have once again pulled you down and covered you in kisses until your face was as red as any of the roses in that garden._

_But alas, I returned to my wanderings, and you to your governings, and so I must wonder as I wander, and dare to dream of the day when we will be reunited._

_Often do I think of that first time we dined together, you and I, and the answer I would have given to you had not duty snatched the words from my lips. We both know those words by now, by heart, and yet, always will I long to say them again to you in person. I hope we are able to dine together again, soon, and if I may be so bold, if you send away your servants once we have supped, I shall serve you dessert myself. I promise, it shall be such a delicious dish as you have never tasted before._

_May it be soon indeed. Until then, your handsome face shall haunt my dreams._

_Ardently,_

_Pyotyr ___


	5. Prompt #5 - Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Afterglow, Aymeric and Pyotyr discuss what Home means to them.
> 
> Prompt fill for Wolmeric Week March 2021 Prompt #5 - Home. Can be read as continuation/companion to prompt #4.

They'd probably pay for it with prying questions from well-meaning friends and slightly less well-meaning politicians in the morning, but for the moment, Neither Aymeric nor Pyotyr looked as if they regretted slipping away early from the post-battle celebration, as they lay, naked and entwined with each other, on a bed a room in the ambassador's quarters of the royal palace of Ala Mhigo.

Pyotyr made a noise of utter contentment as he crawled a bit further up Aymeric's chest to rest his head on his shoulder, and Aymeric responded in kind as he bought his opposite hand up to card gently through Pyotyr's rather more messy than usual purple mane.

"Penny for your thoughts, Aymeric?" Pyotyr murmured, staring up at his lover's face. 

"Mmm," Aymeric answered, his voice slow and husky, "That's a good question, but I believe you rather overrode my ability to have thoughts for a few hours, beloved."

"I wouldn't say that," Pyotyr purred back, "The way my poor body is feeling right now, you knew EXACTLY what you were doing."

"Would you believe I've dreamt of this night over and over a thousand times? I think my body knew how to fit against yours simply from my dreams alone..." Aymeric murmured, that beautiful red blush rising to his cheeks once more.

"Oh, such a darling man you are," Pyotyr chuckled into his collarbone, "I really am going to have to keep you after all."

"Full glad am I to hear such words from your lips," Aymeric answered, his hand still absentmindedly entangled in Pyotyr's hair, "But I wonder... Where would you keep me? What home would we have?"

"Hm. Without the constraints place on both of us by our offices, by our destinies?" Pyotyr said, "I suppose I'd love to take you back to Vylbrand. There's villages that dot the cliffsides of La Noscea, full of tiny little cottages that are among the coziest places I've ever been. We could live in one, you and I, simply live. I could help the villagers with my healing arts, and we could have a little herb garden out back, where I could grow alchemical reagents and cooking herbs. I'd make you such meals, play you whatever songs you wished to hear on the fiddle, every night. Every day, we could take lunches down to the beach, and watch the waves recede into the distance as we huddle soaked in the sun together."

"It sounds enchanting, the way you describe it," Aymeric answered, "Though I'd certainly want to be the one cooking for you at least some of the time. And I'd have better access to fresh eggs for my omelettes, too..."

"Oh, but I don't want to be selfish, darling," Pyotyr said with an aimiable grin, "After all, I know you have so many roots in Ishgard, and I've grown to love it too. Perhaps we would live there instead?"

"I've thought of it, I will admit," Aymeric responded, "You know my manor in Ishgard, and I love it there. I would open up its rooms for you, give them air and space and light. You would want for no comfort, and I would make sure you were always dressed in the fine furs and the most beautiful suits I know you favor. I would cook for you every night, except those nights we would alight out the front door, to see the Opera, and the Orchestra, or to dance at a fine banquet, or simply promenade along the Crozier and enjoy the lights and the sounds of our city."

"I think either fate would sound like a dream, my dear," Pyotyr murmured happily, reaching a hand up to stroke Aymeric's cheek.

"I quite agree, my darling," Answered Aymeric, looking down fondly at Pyotyr, "But I suppose our duties make either home unlikely, at least for now, don't they?"

"For now. But... In the future, maybe not. Maybe one day soon, we can spend a season in Ishgard, ensconced in your beautiful manor, surrounded by music and dancing and culture, and then a season in my little cottage in La Noscea, where we can make lazy love under a clear blue sky to our heart's content."

"Two Homes, alike in love."

"Or One Home, here in our joined hearts. Wherever you are, from now on, that will be my home, my dearest Aymeric. If I am honest with myself, I think it has been so for me for some time."

"As it has for me, my beloved Pyotyr. Then so be it. No matter where we must go, until we can hand our burdens to others and retire together... my Home shall be where you are, and my thoughts each night for your safety."

"But you told me yourself," Pyotyr said, and as he did, he swung a leg over Aymeric's body, "You'd be in Ala Mhigo for a few days more, and I declare, the Scions will not be able to drag me away by any means until you leave. So. For now, we are home."

"For now, we are home," Aymeric said, echoing the words of his beloved with a nod.

Pyotyr, now straddling his beloved, leaned down to gather his lips into a kiss, and for a time, they gave themselves once more to the night. And the beat of their hearts sounded that single word together: Home, Home, Home...


	6. Prompt #6 - Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pyotyr Ilych awakens and finds his footing with the smell of bread.

As the rays of the morning sun hit Pyotyr's eyes through the half open curtain, for a moment he felt as if he was drowning, somehow, buried deep, deep in the ocean. A moment again, and his memory came rushing back. It was not that he was drowning, but that he was buried deep in luxurious, downy blankets and pillows, very different from the bedrolls and lumpy, straw-filled inn mattresses his work generally required him to rest on most nights. 

No, he was in Ishgard. In the bed of his beloved Aymeric De Borel.

He reached for the other side of the bed, to find it empty. 

Had Aymeric returned to work so soon, without even a kiss goodbye?

The thought had begun to grip its tendrils into his mind, the despair of that little reality that made mornings like these so rare to begin with, when the smells hit him, from the kitchen, of sweet spices, of bread baking.

Immediately Pyotyr rose from bed, grabbing his pants from the floor and his dressing gown from the nearby hook, and pulling them on, grateful in the meantime that someone had obviously been stoking the fires against the bitter cold. So dressed, he slipped past the heavy oaken door to the bedroom and down the hall toward the kitchen.

As he rounded the corner through the doorway into the kitchen, he found himself stopped dead in his tracks. For there, dressed in only silk pajama bottoms and a green apron emblazoned with a chocobo chick mascot, stood the Lord Commander himself, Aymeric De Borel, Speaker of the House of Lords, bent over a stove, spatula in hand. 

On the counter beside him, the leavings of his labor could be seen - a few large bowls, a cutting board, full of crumbs and the remains of a rustic loaf, and beside that a pile of cracked egg shells and an empty butter dish. As for the stove itself, Aymeric flipped a few pieces of bread over in a skillet, before extracting them from the pan and depositing them on a plate with a few already done - large, crusty pieces of bread covered in cooked eggs and fried in butter - Pyotyr knew exactly what that was, and a grin came unbidden to his face as Aymeric took the plate in hand, turned around, and saw him in the doorway.

"Ah, Good Morning, Pyotyr," He said, the look on his face turning from concentration to surprise, and then to a warm, welcoming smile of his own, "I had hoped to have breakfast done before you woke, but I see I've failed in my mission."

"Oh, think nothing of it, my dear," Pyotyr answered as he walked into the room, favoring Aymeric's cheek with a kiss, "At least I got to see you in that darling apron. Is that what I think it is?"

"La Noscean toast," Aymeric said, his face blushing a bit at the kiss, "Yes. Omelettes are usually my specialty, but I... thought it might be nice to make a little taste of your homeland. Please, sit, darling, I'll serve you a slice."

Pyotyr slipped into his chair at the kitchen table, the smaller, more intimate one he and Aymeric had taken to using when they had no guests, as Aymeric placed a plate with two of the slices of bread before him, along with a small bowl of various sliced fruits and a few slices of bacon he'd extracted from another pan on the stove.

"Here you are," he said, "There's Maple and Birch syrup on the table."

Pyotyr couldn't help but hold on taking his first bite as he watched his beloved bustling about, admiring the ease with which he navigated the kitchen, the joy on his face as he finished off his culinary creation, those little signs of the work he'd put in, a few patches of flour on his apron, on his bare chest, the look of concentration on his face as he judged whether the very last pieces of bread and bacon were cooked to his standards.

Still, after a moment, Aymeric had fixed a plate for himself as well, and sat down beside Pyotyr at the table, and for a moment, the kitchen was simply filled with the joy of their companionship. Pyotyr reached for the maple syrup, Aymeric poured fresh cups of milk tea for them both, and they feasted.

"You know," Pyotyr murmured sheepishly, a bit later, as they both neared the last few bites of their meal, "When I first woke up, I was afraid you'd gone into work without even saying goodbye, and instead here you were, making such a marvelous breakfast for me. I feel a bit ashamed."

Aymeric reached over and took Pyotyr's hand where it sat on the table, giving it a light squeeze.

"I know things have been difficult," Aymeric said, "With work keeping us apart more often than we'd like. I understand. But I promise. Today is for you, and only for you."

"You spoil me, my darling," Pyotyr answered, squeezing back.

"Besides, Lucia made it very clear to me yesterday that if I showed up at the Congregation or the houses of parliament for anything less than a new cataclysm, she would beat me around the head and shoulders until I returned to the manor and begged your forgiveness."

"Hah. Is that so? I'll have to thank her the next time I see her."

"So. Do you have any particular wishes for after breakfast?"

"If it pleases my Lord Aymeric," Pyotyr said, an impish grin now playing across his face in earnest, "After we get cleaned up, I should rather like to retire back to bed. With you. Where we shall not rise again for some hours, should I have my say."

"That, my dear Captain Ilych," replied Aymeric, with a fond smile, "sounds completely agreeable to me."


	7. Prompt #7 - Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of his adventures on the first shard, Pyotyr finds his Echo has become stranger, stronger, more insistent. In the aftermath of an especially brutal attack, he pours out his fears to Aymeric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly rewrites the events of the post-Shadowbringers patch MSQs, and as such definitely contains huge spoilers for Shadowbringers through 5.4. Also contains mentions of past Azem/Hythlodaeus.

As he stood on the Airship Landing in Ishgard, Pyotyr took in a deep breath. Normally, he vastly preferred the warmth of a Vylbrand Summer, of warm waters and sea breezes, but in the past year, he'd learned to love the cold, as well - or more specifically the cold of Coerthas, where lived the greatest source of warmth and love in his life, his husband, Aymeric De Borel.

Unfortunately, he wasn't sure if he'd even see Aymeric on this trip. Not only was it only meant to be a quick trip to purchase ceruleum, but Aymeric himself was due to be out for some time on a diplomatic trip to the Sea of Clouds. The price of peace, as always. Still, if they could just get through this last little bit, maybe they could finally steal a few weeks together again. 

"Pyotyr!" A voice come from a nearby dock, a voice Pyotyr knew instantly.

"Aymeric!" He called back in response, and indeed as he turned, there stood his husband, dressed in all his official finery, striding down the airship dock. Pyotyr ran to him, and regardless of the armor, gathered him into a tight embrace, which Aymeric returned, wrapping his arms around him in kind.

"I did not expect to see you, darling," Pyotyr murmured into his shoulder, "but full glad am I to have been mistaken."

"It was near torture to know you were so near without seeing you at least for a moment, and I wanted to invite the Vanu to Ishgard soon anyhow," Aymeric explained, "and when the Chieftain heard that you were to be in Ishgard, he insisted."

Pyotyr disengaged from Aymeric just a bit, looking over his shoulder to see Lucia and Sonu Vanu themselves, just behind.

"Ah! Lucia, Chieftain," he remembered himself, and smoothed out his coat before bowing to both, "Apologies for the disruption, it IS a pleasure to see you both."

"Think nothing of it, Captain Ilych," said Lucia simply, with one of her small, knowing smiles.

"Sonu could not keep someone from their beloved, never would he be so cruel," Sonu declared, "Much less when the beloved is the hero of the Vanu himself, who kept our islands and our tribes from destruction!"

"Still, I am grateful," Pyotyr replied, with another bow to them both before turning his attention back to Aymeric.

"My dear," Aymeric said, "I'll tell the engineers you are to have as much ceruleum as we can spare, and an airship to carry it back to the Scions. I've already told Sonu what we've heard... if we can reverse even tempering, by the fury, I can scarce think of the possibilities. We could end this cycle of bloodshed once and for all!"

"I swear to you, we will do all we can to see this come to fruition," Pyotyr said, "And once it is done, perhaps you and I-"

The words he meant to say froze in his mouth, as a flash of pain stabbed through his mind like a dragoon's lance, and he dropped to one knee. No. Not here. Not NOW.

"Pyotyr!" He heard Aymeric's voice suddenly rise in terror. Pairs of armored legs loomed over him as he tried to look up from the ground - and then, for a moment... hooded, robed figures? One of them with a familiar aura... No, no, he shook his head, NO. This was not who he was. This was not what they were! His mind screamed at him, but his body, his soul, would not listen. Even his knees could no longer support him, and he collapsed to the ground.

"Lucia, I'm taking him to the manor, please, fetch a Chirurgeon immediately. Chieftain Sonu, I apologize, but-"

"Do not apologize, Lord Commander! Your beloved needs your help! Sonu will assist however he can."

Pyotyr felt himself being lifted from the ground, but when he looked up, he could not tell if he was being carried by Aymeric, or the other one, tousled black hair shifting into a hood and a mask. Then, for a time, he fell into a dream.

***

It was some hours later that Aymeric De Borel sat on a stool at his own bedside, a bed currently solely occupied by his sometime bedmate and husband. The Chirurgeons had declared that there was nothing physically wrong with him, but that a surge of aetherial power, perhaps denoting an especially violent attack of his echo-blessed vision, had fallen him, and the only real cure was to let him rest and wake on his own terms.

Sonu had insisted on delaying the resumption of talks at least a day to allow for Aymeric to watch over his husband, and Aymeric found himself relieved for it. For all his dedication for his duty, he would have been in no position to speak on anything, thinking instead of his sleeping beloved.

Now, though, as he sat by, his husband's warm but still hand in his own, he could only watch, praying ferverntly to the fury for some sign of conciousness.

Eventually, his prayer was answered, for as he leaned over with his head on Pyotyr's chest, he felt a stirring, a hand squeezing his own, and a deep rumbling groan from Pyotyr's chest.

"Pyotyr, my love," Aymeric said, immediately straightening up and looking to the sleeping man's face, "Do you wake? Can you hear me."

"Hyth... Hythlodaeus... is that you?"

"It's me, my dear. Your Aymeric," Aymeric's voice dropped down to near a whisper as fears ran through his head, one after another. Was Pyotyr in the grips of an echo? Another life? Who was this Hythlodaeus?

"I-" Pyotyr blinked rapidly, and then, finally, his eyes focused on Aymeric, and he smiled, that type of small, soft smile he gave when he was trying to convince his friends that things would be alright, even as the world was falling down around them, "Oh, Aymeric. My darling. I- I really have made a mess of things, haven't I?"

"Do not say such things, Pyotyr," Aymeric said, "None of this is your fault. Only tell me, how do you feel? Is this... what you were telling me about, in your letters?"

"Yes," Said Pyotyr, slowly, "The other life. Ryne and Y'shtola tell me I am well again, that my Soul is fixed and strong, but ever since I joined with my counterpart on the first shard, I have felt it. Azem. I do not think they mean to, but their memories keep invading my own, as if I was experiencing the echo, but stronger."

"And there's no way to combat it, no rhyme or reason to the visions?"

"If there is one saving grace, it seems to work much like the echo does for me," Pyotyr said, "It only really shows me something when it would be important for me to see it, or very strong emotions trigger it."

"And... right now? What was it trying to show you right now?" Aymeric said.

"Hythlodaeus. The name I murmured," Pyotyr said, sounding almost shy as he looked at Aymeric, eyes slightly downcast, "That was someone Azem knew, someone close to him, so please don't think I was-"

"The thought never crossed my mind, my dear," Aymeric replied, quickly, "Please, never fear that. You are my husband, and I trust you."

"But that was it. It was showing me Azem and Hythlodaeus. They were in bed, discussing when Azem would next leave to travel the star, to perform their duty as a member of the conclave."

"In that, they were much like you and I, it seems," Aymeric said, allowing himself a small chuckle, a manifestation of the nervous energy running through his system, an attempt to lighten the mood.

"More than you realize, my love..."

"Pyotyr?"

"I think... When you lifted me up to bring me home," Pyotyr explained, "I had a vision of you as you gathered me into your arms, but it wasn't you. You were one of the ancients, robed and masked, and the mask you wore, the aura around you. It was the same as that of Hythlodaeus."

"Then even in a past life, you and I..."

"Yes, I suppose so," Pyotyr said, and he laughed, but in the laugh Aymeric sensed less of mirth and more of hysterics, and he squeezed Pyotyr's hand all the tighter in support, "It seems that way, doesn't it? Somehow. But I don't know, maybe I am only seeing what I want to see. Maybe Azem wants Hythlodaeus so badly they are overwriting my vision of you. But... It IS you I love, Aymeric, isn't it? I have seen enough of Hythlodaeus to know they were a good person, but they weren't YOU, Aymeric. They weren't the man I love now, as me, as Pyotyr. I... I don't want to be Azem, Aymeric. I don't want to be Azem or Ardbert or anyone else but ME."

"Oh, Pyotyr..." Aymeric said. His heart breaking at the pain of his husband, it was all he could do to rise and climb over him, coming to rest beside him, and gathering him to his chest. Pyotyr, for his part, turned to bury his head in that chest, their arms tight around each other as if sheltering from a storm, Aymeric bringing up one hand to cradle Pyotyr's head as he let out a wracking sob.

"By the Gods, Aymeric," Pyotyr murmured, "I am sorry you have to see me like this. I've been trying to deal with it. All of it. But through it all, two things have kept me going, that I am still as always, Me. Pyotyr. And that I have you. If this damnable universe takes those from me, I don't know what I'll do. I don't know how-"

He trailed off again, sobbing into Aymeric's arms. For a moment, all Aymeric could do was hold him in return, stroking his hair, his back. It was all he could do, to be strong for his beloved, and put that strength into words, his beliefs, as he always did. 

"Whoever we were, my love, who we are now is what is important. And now, I swear to you, that I am Aymeric De Borel, and you are Pyotyr Ilych De Borel, and I love you. I will always love you. I will always stand by you. All I have is yours, and all the strength I can bring to bear to help you, I will."

"Aymeric..." Pyotyr lifted his head from Aymeric's chest to gaze into his eyes.

"Pyotyr," Aymeric said, saying the word like a talisman, like a prayer, an anchor for his husband to grab to, a reminder of who he held in his arms, "Pyotyr. My Pyotyr. You are the strongest, bravest man I know. If anyone can weather this storm, it is you. And you will not be alone. Ishgard's finest Chirurgeons will be at your call, and if I can recruit any other help, I will. But more than that, I will be here for you, always. And Azem and Hythlodaeus, wherever they are, will learn to rest. Their time is over, and now is our time. If they truly loved each other, if they loved who we were, they will give way."

Pyotyr chuckled again, and Aymeric felt relief flood his heart as he heard the familiar sounds of his husband's relief and mirth in that little laugh.

"I love you, Aymeric de Borel," Pyotyr murmured as he settled deeper into Aymeric's embrace once again, "And I swear, with your help, I will love you for many, many years more. Thank you for settling the heart of this foolish old adventurer. I cannot promise you I will not fall into despair again, or fall into these fugues again, but I can promise you I will fight to come back to you, with all my will."

"Full glad I am to hear you say that," Aymeric answered, "For you have the strongest will of any I have ever met."

"A will only recharged by the support of those I love, especially in times such as this. Will you... Will you stay with me? Just stay, a while longer?"

"Sonu already told me he did not expect to see me again til the morrow, Lucia has taken my office in the Congregation and apprised my lieutenants in the Houses of Parliament of my need for time away," said Aymeric, "And the Scions have been informed it will take a full day to secure the Ceruleum they need, and they should not expect you until at least the end of that time. I will stay here as long as you have need of me, my love."

"Good. Good. You are always so good to me, my love, my Aymeric," murmured Pyotyr.

And thus, for a moment, did Pyotyr Ilych and Aymeric de Borel forget their burdens, and remains two souls joined together, adrift in their own dreams, buoyed by hope for the future.


	8. Prompt #8 (Bonus) - Ducklings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the wars are long over, and Aymeric Introduces Pyotyr to a new project, the Ishgardian Halonic Botanical Gardens.

Pyotyr's eyes sparkled in delight as he walked arm-in-arm with Aymeric down the pathways of the newly established Halonic Botanical Gardens, a great, ranging minature forest, preserved under greenhouse glass made warm and inviting by enchantments employing thaumaturgy, conjury, and arcanima alike. 

"I still can't believe how well it all came together," Pyotyr said, kneeling for a moment to revel at the beauty of one specific flower that, a botanist had explained to him earlier, previously only grew in the hottest months of the Coerthan summers before the Cataclysm.

"I was involved in the work, and even I marvel," Aymeric said with a chuckle, "It took more than a bit of luck and the grace of the fury, but there was hard work too. If you'd believe it, Miss Ware was instrumental for much of it. Whenever we couldn't find a viable specimen of a plant we needed, she knew some old housewife or herbalist who just happened to keep a bit back for some old medicinal property."

"Hah. Good for Hilda. Never underestimate us street rats, my dear. We always know more than you'd guess," Pyotyr said with a triumphant grin. As much as he'd taken to the life of formality that came with being husband of Ishgard's foremost nobleman, he still kept his pride at his humble roots. He was well known, for weal or woe, for agitating for better treatment of the masses with the nobles of Ishgard. No matter how much it had improved since the war, it could always be better. That was his motto, and proudly spoken.

"Between you and Miss Ware, I shall never do so again in my life, I promise," Aymeric said fondly, "especially because of the debt we owe you both. Between Miss Ware's knowledge of preservation and your ability to get us the magic and technology we needed to establish the building, right now we've nearly perfectly preserved a slice of Coerthas as it was before the calamity ushered in this eternal winter."

"Perhaps not eternal," Pyotyr said, "There's already signs of warmth again in the summer months. With time, perhaps Coerthas shall be as it was."

"Perhaps," Aymeric said, "And now, it has that much better of a chance. We've preserved it here, and we'll be prepare to release and reintroduce new species should they day come they can thrive again."

Pyotyr rose to his feet again, and for a bit, the two men walked down the path again, simply enjoying each others' company. Aymeric would point out some trees and flowers he knew, Pyotyr content to hang off his arm and watch, enchanted and grateful for such a spot of green among the cold grey of Ishgard.

Finally, the two arrived at one of the crown jewels of the gardens, a full pond, dotted with reeds and mosses and various other water plants native to the area, and sitting down on a bench beneath a willow tree, the two men leaned on each other for a moment, before a sound broke the reverie

"Is that... ducks?" Pyotyr raised his head, ears perked. Indeed, there they were, swimming in the water not far from the bench, a large, majestic, brown-speckled mother duck followed by a squad of tiny, yellow-speckled ducklings, seemingly inspired by the warm pond to sing to their hearts content.

Aymeric smiled and nodded, "The ducks can survive well enough in the cold weather, but they were always adapted to survive for months, not years, and they've had a hard time of it. We bought a few families into the gardens to serve the natural cycle and bolster their numbers."

"And it seems it's worked," Pyotyr answered, and voiced wavered a bit, overcome with emotion at the sight of the cute little bundles of furry feathers following their mother so dutifully, "Look at those precious little ducklings. New life. As if everything we've worked for will turn out."

"You know. Now that the Scions have let you roam freer, perhaps we could consider that ourselves," Aymeric murmured, his hand tightening slightly around Pyotyr's waist, "I mean, children, not ducklings, of course, but... new life."

"Aymeric de Borel-" Pyotyr turned again to look at his husband, but for a minute the words caught in his throat. It was something they had discussed, often in the dark hours of the night or morning when they had it to themselves. Pyotyr had already raised twin daughters, but he and Aymeric were still young enough to be parents by any reasonable standard, and Aymeric, despite his unfortunate parenthood, had been raised by the De Borel family with love and attentiveness, and part of him dearly wished to pass that along. But never had they discussed it such clear terms, never had Aymeric declared his want for it so unequivocally.

"I... know it's not something I've bought up too seriously yet," Aymeric said with a blush. stammering away, "But I have been thinking about it. We don't have to decide now, really, but. We finally have some time to ourselves, and I already know you're a wonderful father, and we have so much to offer, to share..."

"Oh, Aymeric, you darling man," Pyotyr said, and threw his arms around his husband's neck burying his face in his shoulder, "You darling, silly, wonderful man. We'll have to discuss specifics, but of course I'll gladly be a father with you!"

"Oh," Aymeric replied, and relief was etched into his face and Pyotyr disengaged from the hug just enough to gaze adoringly at him, "I am glad, full glad."

And thus did the two husbands laugh and smile and discuss the future together the whole afternoon away, and as they did, it truly seemed as if, after the cataclysms and the wrath of the gods and the wars and the strife, the world was finally becoming reborn again around them.


End file.
